Catch Me
by midnightmoon59
Summary: HARRY/DRACO. "Make me never want to leave Paris. Make me never want to leave this flat, this bed, and your arms. Show me that you want me here." SLASH. ONESHOT.


Tuesday

The weatherman had been right. Tuesday was covered with a rain so thick it seemed to be a solid form. No one had believed him. The sun had been so bright the day before and the sky so blue.

"I'm flying back to London in two days," Harry murmured in Draco's ear.

"On broomstick?" he asked.

"No, since the war and all the complications with safe traveling, the wizarding world has set up a chain of airplanes, strictly for wizards so we can still use magic."

"Oh."

"I still haven't gotten Ginny's dress," Harry continued.

"You might want to do that today then."

"Draco," Harry moaned. "Please, say something. Make me never want to leave Paris. Make me never want to leave this flat, this bed, and your arms. Show me that you want me here."

"I don't regret this, Harry. I won't ever, but this isn't right. Ginny is back in London, waiting for her hero to come back with a gorgeous French dress for the perfect wedding. And you have to live that life like you had to slay Voldemort. Like I have to make a nice, little pure-blood heir."

"But-"

"As much as I would like for you to never leave this bed with my arms around you, you must."

Wednesday

Wednesday wasn't better. Harry had gotten the exact dress Ginny had wanted. The rain had persisted through the night and into the morning, so Harry sent the dress straight to Ginny.

Harry had wandered through the city until he got to the coffee shop where he had run into Draco two weeks ago. Harry smiled.

"This can't be over," he said to himself. Pulling out a spare bit a parchment and a pen he kept in his shirt pocket, he scrawled a quick note.

Draco looked up to see an owl struggling in the rain outside his window. He let the wet bird in and took to note from his leg.

**Draco, **

**I know you said you didn't regret anything and I don't either. But this can't be it. **

**My plane leaves at nine in the morning. Come catch me. **

**See you,**

**H. Potter**

"Damn it, Potter!" Draco screamed. He hated that man. He sounded so…confident. Like he knew that Draco couldn't resist him and would come running.

Potter knew him far too well.

Thursday

Draco hadn't been able to sleep. The rain hadn't let up and when it hit the rooftop, it sounded just like Harry's heart beat. It was steady and soothing, but whenever Draco moved, it seemed to speed up.

He finally lulled off to sleep at about three in the morning and woke at eight-oh-six.

"Shit,' he said, and then blinked several times, hoping the clock hands might go back maybe forty-five minutes.

He ran his hand through his golden hair trying to flatten it after pulling a robe over his head. Draco couldn't find a matching shoe, but since his robe was long, he just wore two different ones. Being the sentimental man he is, Draco conjured a bouquet of lilies, Harry's favorite flower. He left the house at eight-seventeen.

Harry nervously looked at his watch. It was eight-thirty-four. They would start boarding the plane in sixteen minutes.

"Maybe I could ask them to delay the flight, for just a half an hour…" Harry started. But he knew he couldn't do that. They'd delay the flight into next week if he asked. And if he asked for half an hour, he would ask for another, and another, and another.

"Come on, Malfoy."

"Harry…Plane…London!" Draco gasped. "What terminal?" He ran over to a board that listed the flights and their terminals.

"Okay, number…" He ran his finger down the black wood. "Nine! Harry, I'm coming."

"Terminal nine is now boarding.' A monotoned voice announced.

Harry shifted the gray bag's strap on his shoulder. His eyes scanned over the area, looking for a head of white blonde hair weaving through the crowd. He stood there for three more minutes, then sighed. Maybe he was meant to live the life everyone assumed would make him happiest. And maybe Draco was one of those people that assumed that this life would make him happiest.

"Harry! Harry, I'm here! Harry!" He got to terminal nine, but the area had been cleared. All that was a left was a large, steel door with a big, red **9** on the front. He clawed at the door, banged on the door, but nothing happened. He turned to the large window a couple of feet over. He slumped next to it and watched the plane take off, taking his Harry away.


End file.
